


Mission Accomplished? - A Dream SMP Story

by FleckaRAF



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Author is a Clay | Dream Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Blood and Injury, Clay | Dream Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Dream Apologist, Dream Team SMP - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explanations, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Is Dream really the villain?, Isolation, Minecraft, Nightmares, One Shot, POV Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Pain, Pandora's Vault, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Sad Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Sam | Awesamdude (Video Blogging RPF) - Freeform, Self-Destruction, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Short Stories, Sick Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), dream team, injured dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:35:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28934127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleckaRAF/pseuds/FleckaRAF
Summary: A collection of Dream Team SMP snippet stories, with the occasional One Shot amongst them.FIRST UP: Dream is imprisoned in Pandora's Vault, and left alone to dwell on his misdeeds. An attempt to explain or at least try and work out why Dream did what he did.
Comments: 34
Kudos: 467





	1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:** _

_I'm somewhat of a Dream apologist, but I am in no way condoning some of Dream's actions on the server. I disagree with many of them - but I can't make myself hate him no matter how hard I try LOL._

_Anyway, read on and enjoy!_

_Written from Dream's POV._

* * *

This is it.

I’m in here, the prison I built – trapped like an animal.

Like the animal they know me as. That I know I am. This is the best place for me.

I stared at Sam’s face as he secured the cell I’m locked in. His expression was impassive as he stared back. Finally, the lava pouring from the roof obscured my vision, blocking out the last I think I’ll ever see of the outside world.

My head hurts so much – blood drips down the side of my forehead, and my whole body throbs mercilessly with pain from multiple injuries from when Tommy killed me twice. Two lives lost – one remaining. I let him kill me. I wanted him to. But I had no time to recover between deaths and I am completely exhausted. Being slain, dragged through the Void of nothingness and then respawning without break takes its toll on a player.

There is nothing in this obsidian room to rest on but my body is begging me to lie down. I slump down against the wall until I’m sitting on the floor and I let my eyes close. Then my mind replays over and over again the looks of hatred and disappointment on the faces of my ‘friends’ just before they sealed me in here. I remember it all too well. I remember how hard it was to keep from telling them all what my plan was – how much effort it took to keep from breaking down. I needed them to hate me. All of them. Because as I glanced around, at the people I used to care about, there was one thing stopping my heart from breaking more than it already was.

I saw something that I hadn’t seen since the early days on the server. Since before L’Manberg, before war, before chaos. I saw my plan had worked.

Unity.

Peace.

One nation – a people united for a common goal against a common enemy.

The enemy I chose to be. The villain they wanted me to be.

For the first time in memory, the whole server was a family. Watching each other’s backs, loyal to the last. Caring, responsible, and law-abiding.

The corner of my mouth lifts into a half-smile, despite the metallic taste of blood which is constantly in my mouth. I did it! They’re a family, just like I always wanted them to be. My idea of collecting all the evil in this world to myself and then destroying myself and it with me worked! They’re happy. They’re together . . .

Was it worth it? Worth becoming the most hated man on the SMP just to bring people who don’t even care about you together? Being despised by even the youngest players who’ll never know the real me?

Questions spin around in my dazed mind – continually trying to find a way out. A tear trickles down my cheek, stinging the lacerations all over my face. The answer is always the same – but I don’t know if I believe it.

Of course it was.

My head is pounding and I drift in and out of consciousness. I can’t get up – my body is too weak and I feel so drained that it takes every ounce of energy to keep breathing. Half of me tells me to stop, to end it all.

But then they – and I – won’t let me.

Oh, I’ve tried. But they won’t let you die.

Sure, you can kill yourself. But you can’t really die. I tried swimming in lava, I tried starving myself. So many ways.

It’s a cycle that keeps repeating itself over and over and over again until I feel like screaming. I’m so tired of it all.

But no, they will have something special planned for my final death. I’m sure of it.

How many days have I spent in here?

Nobody comes to visit me. I don’t care. At least, that’s what I think.

What do I do, wasting away the long hours in the prison I built?

I’ve become a child, fascinated by the smallest and simplest of things.

The way the lava drips down from a crevice in the roof by the entrance. How the cold blocks of the obsidian walls each have unique patterning. How the pages of the blank books they gave me to write in are smooth and clean and white. I want to write something, but every time I pick up the quill my mind can’t cope with everything I want to say and I have to put it down because it gets hard to breath.

My favourite thing to do is watch the clock. Watching its hands move slowly, rhythmically, constantly ticking like the heartbeat of a friend who won’t let me down. It tells me things. What time it is, when I’ll get my next meal, is it daytime or nighttime, how long it takes to respawn after killing myself. . .

It argues with me too. It doesn’t shut up when I want to sleep. It refuses to tell me what day it is or how long I’ve been here – how long it will be before I get out.

But it’s always there. Ticking away the minutes, hours, days, eternity that I’ve been here. It’s my friend. I didn’t want to make friends before – after the war for L’Manberg I realized the cold truth about myself.

I’m a vicious, ruthless control freak and I realized that I’d never be the leader, the warrior, the hero that they thought I was. They called me sadistic, a psycopath, a monster, a master manipulator controlling all of their lives. I didn’t know then if it was true or not. I do now.

They were right.

How did it get to this? Why did I do everything that I did? Was it really to unite the server? Or was that just a ruse to justify my actions? Am I lying to myself now? Why am I so messed up?

I cut myself off from everyone, severing all ties. I saw how disappointed they were in me, and I saw how much it hurt them. I decided to never ever be hurt like that myself.

Ha, they called me a puppeteer, a marionette worker. They never once knew how a good actor I was. An emotionless beast, was it?

“ _How does it not hurt cutting all bonds with everything you_ _care about_ _?_ ”

I didn’t answer when Tommy asked me that question some time ago. He didn’t need to know that it did– he wouldn’t understand why I did it. I hid my feelings behind my mask and said nothing.

With effort I open my eyes and glance down at myself. My once-green hoodie is now torn and stained crimson with dried blood, and there are bloody bruises all over my body.

I hate myself. I despise everything I’ve done, but at the same time, I want to do it again. Because it’s the only thing I seem to be able to do. What’s wrong with me? Am I possessed by something? I can’t tell the difference. They can’t tell the difference.

This is the best place for me.

I can’t hurt anyone here.

My head drops and I curl my arms around my knees as I start to feel dizzy again - a common sensation since I’ve been imprisoned. My face feels flushed and hot. I know I’m surrounded by lava, but the obsidian room is surprisingly cool considering, so that’s not the reason. I blink feverishly at the cascading wall of molten rock which is the door to my cell. It hasn’t opened since I arrived – my injuries have been badly neglected and infection probably spreads fast in here. I feel myself losing consciousness again. Everything is going fuzzy, my mind is suffocating under a blanket of lies, deceit, uncertainty, confusion – I put it there.

Did I though? I can’t think straight anymore. I was their only enemy, so did I achieve my goal and put an end to everything they hated? What were my real motives? Will I ever know? I’m never going to have friends again.

Tears are pouring down my face unheeded. I can cry now – nobody will see me. My mask is on the floor beside me, cracked and bloody. I don’t even bother reaching for it – it’s useless now. Like me.

Mission. . . Accomplished?

**TBC. . .**

* * *

_Well, I hope you enjoyed reading this first short story!_

_Comments and hearts would be very much appreciated! Thanks again for reading :)_


	2. Mission Accomplished? (Part 2)

_You guys seemed to really like the last chapter, so here is the continuation of the previous chapter - **Part 2** of " **Mission Accomplished?"**_

_Thanks for so many kudos and comments!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

It's so hot.

My forehead is dripping with sweat and my whole body is damp with perspiration. I feel like I'm burning up.

Then why am I shivering with cold? I'm curled up on the floor, my head hurting with every slight noise. The clock - my friend- is drumming so loudly and so consistently that it's no longer comforting but only increases the sound of blood pounding in my head. My skin is flushed with fever and feels so sensitive. As I slowly move myself to another, cooler spot on the floor trying to find some relief from the unbearable heat which is smothering me - the fabric of my hoodie keeps rubbing against me and it's painful.

I press my forehead on the wall, exhaling shakily as the cold obsidian blocks touch some of the many bruises and wounds I seem to have acquired. I don't remember.

Oh.

Now I do.

I don't understand what's happening to me. Recent events have been blurred unrecognizably – I keep forgetting what has happened. Memories I thought long-lost are now filling my mind with startling clarity. So vivid, so bright, so clear that they send stabs of pain through my temples as I close my eyes to try block them out.

Because they hurt me so much. They tell me what a monster I have become. They remind me of the friendships I destroyed, the friends I betrayed.

George

Sapnap

Bad

The three people I thought I cared about more than anything in the world. More than power, more than life. What happened? Everyone called me the villain – twisting my every motive and slowly turning my heart to stone. Until they all feared me and left me alone, telling their friends how bad I was and pushing me to see how much they could get away with until I finally snapped.

They wanted a villain?

I'd show them a villain.

Looking back – I know that was that was the worst possible thing I could have done. Instead of restoring peace as I'd hoped, it merely convinced them that they were right about me being a sadistic tyrant. But at the time I didn't realize that. Being called vicious, a psychopath, a liar, a manipulator, and so many horrible titles damages you in more ways then one. Having these accusations flung at you non-stop makes you want to retreat and hide any good you might have left – so you don't lose it.

Until all that is left is an empty shell and the broken, twisted mind of someone who has only has their faults left.

As I abandoned our team, there was nothing left to unite them anymore. Sapnap became a dangerous mercenary, fighting for himself or whichever side paid more.

George was pushed into obscurity, just another player among many. Naive, weak, easily persuaded. I remember his expression when I dethroned him, I felt the god-like thrill of power. How did I not read the deep hurt and betrayal that registered in his face as I replaced one of my oldest friend with a previous king who had already betrayed his country once?

Punz remained loyal for a while – but I don't know anymore. He was only in it for the money. I'm hopeless at judging if people actually mean what they say – I deserve to be forgotten and if he wants to join with someone else I can't stop him.

I don't even know what happened to Bad. He disappeared for ages and then came back the leader of a whole new faction – the Badlands.

I've lost them all. They hate me now. Nobody comes to visit me – and even though I miss them so much I don't want them to see me in this state. I detest being so vulnerable – so at the mercy of those I used to control.

Yes, control, dictate, manipulate, whatever you want to call it. I have no excuse for my actions.

Time passes slowly. I'm vaguely aware that it's time to eat, and I see my food dropped into the cell from a hidden dispenser. A few raw potatoes, nothing more. I did eat them when I first arrived, but I haven't been now for the past few days. Partly because it's too much effort to get up and retrieve them, and partly because even the sight of food makes me feel queasy.

But I'm starving now, and I want them. If I can reach them. . .

As I try to stand I realize it will take ages to go the few metres across the room. My vision starts to go black even as I push myself into a sitting position. Everything swims in and out of focus. The ticking of my clock suddenly takes on a warped, echoing quality – as if I'm under water. But the stabbing hunger pains in my stomach force me to continue my efforts to get up. A feverish voice in my head repeats over and over again.

I need to eat. . .

I've barely pulled myself to my feet before I know this isn't going to be possible. My small world starts spinning and I lean dizzily against the wall before crumpling heavily to the ground – where I lie, breathing laboured, semiconscious and not caring what happens to me. I don't know how long I've been here.

This is it then?

Can I die now?

Please?

Suddenly a 'cold' hand touches my hot skin and I begin shivering violently, my face burning with fever and my head throbbing. My eyelids are so heavy and I can't open them to see who's next to me. I can only guess.

Sam.

The silent, solemn guard who operates the prison. The man who used to be my friend. He must have a way of monitoring my actions, or he'd never have known what has happened.

He rolls me over onto my back and I struggle to open my eyes and watch what he's doing. He looks over me, face as emotionless as ever. His hands run over my head and I pull back feebly with a moan of pain as his fingers brush over a bad gash surrounded by a huge bruise. He frowns and finishes checking me over for injuries. Despite my dazed state I see slight shock register on his face at what he finds and I wonder if he's going to do anything about them. But before I can think anything more he gets up and leaves.

Leaving the lava wall open.

He knows I'm not going anywhere – not in the condition I'm in. I curl up tightly on my side again, waves of nausea washing over me and wishing beyond everything else that I could get out of this prison. I'm forgetting my reasons for being here – why I need to stay.

Sam returns, and he's carrying something – a length of bandage, and a bottle containing a glowing, pink-purple liquid.

A Healing Potion.

He sits down beside me, and drips some of it carefully onto the strip of cloth. Then he ties it around my head before helping me into a sitting position and holding the bottle to my mouth. I drink it slowly, repulsed by the combined taste of the overly sweet potion, and the coppery one of blood. Besides, I barely having the energy to swallow.

Then I slump back, trembling slightly as the powerful liquid begins to fuse my battered body back together again and repairing some – but not all – of the damage. Looking down, I see my mask on the ground beside me. I reach over to it, and Sam picks it up and passes it to me. I weakly snatch it from him, fumbling with the straps until I've secured it over my face.

Sam stands up, simply watching me.

I try to speak, but my voice is little more than a rough whisper. "Don't tell anyone, please." I say quietly, frustrated that he had to help heal me but at the same time completely worn out.

"Why didn't you tell anyone you were in that condition before we put you in here?" Sam asks in a low voice. He sounds annoyed.

I shut my eyes, suddenly lightheaded. "You didn't need to know." I manage. "I don't need help from anyone."

Sam turns to leave. "I can see that." he replies, only a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Be more careful next time."

I avoid his piercing gaze, and he finally he's gone.

_Why do you keep trying to be invincible, hypocrite? They know you're not. You know you're not. The game is over – you have lost._

I close my eyes again. Extreme exhaustion is a side effect of using potions to heal major injuries. But for the first time in forever, my head has cleared somewhat and I can think straight. And when I fall asleep, it's not the fitful, feverish sleep I've become used to.

It's deep, restful, still. . .

And full of nightmares.

**TBC. . .**

* * *

_Again, thanks for so many reads and hearts! They are so encouraging - I really appreciate them!_

_There's more to this story, maybe 2 or 3 parts, so keep an eye out for the next update ;)_

_See ya!_


	3. Mission Accomplished? (Part 2)

_1Oh my goodness, thank you for nearly 600 reads and over 80 kudos! I can't believe it - I'm so glad you guys and gals are enjoying this! It means the world to me :)_

_Anyway, here's **Part 3!** Enjoy!_

* * *

_The nightmares start differently and more violently each time I sleep, but they always end the same way._

_I’m hiding - running – stumbling away from them all. And they’re chasing me. It’s dark, and the crescent moon casts eerie patterns on the ground through the dead, burnt forest. Every shadow is waiting to grab me. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I inhale the smokey air, trying desperately to get enough oxygen in my aching lungs to keep going as the smoke burns the back of my throat. Smoke from the fires of destruction and hate – ones I started._

_I hear their shouts echoing through the woods, their voices full of anger and vengeance. A tree looms up in front of me suddenly and I can’t stop quickly enough to avoid colliding with it. My forehead hits a low branch, sending me tumbling painfully to the scorched earth. I roll over, clutching my head as everything seems to explode with agony. I try to get up, but the world swoops dizzily under my feet and I lean against the tree, dead leaves clinging to my hair and tangled thorns tearing my hoodie and scratching my skin deep enough to draw blood._

_I have to keep going._

_They’re getting closer._

_I trip forward several steps before my body gives up on me and I once more collapsed on the ground._

_The hunters are right behind me now. I can see their torches gleaming brightly in the darkness. The moon drifts in and out of the smoldering clouds. It’s low on the horizon – it must be nearly morning._

_I know what happens next._

_They suddenly are right in front of me – surrounding me, pointing their weapons at me. They stand silent for a moment, before leaping forwards - kicking my ribs ruthlessly, raining blow after blow at my head, lashing branches across my body. Shouts of joy and triumph ring through my throbbing head until at an unspoken signal they all move back._

_Tommy walks forward, grinning maniacally. “Well, Dream?” he spits, shoving his axe under my chin and forcing me to look upwards. A trickle of blood runs down where the keen blade nicks my skin. “Ready to die?”_

_I can’t move – he has his foot pressed heavily on my chest. I’m struggling for breath already, and this isn’t helping. Then he withdraws the axe and I tense up, knowing what he’s going to say._

“ _Oh, but I forget – I’m not the people you let down, am I?” he taunts. “I hated you from the start. Let me introduce the so-called friends who used to trust you – the ones you betrayed.” With a theatrical wave, he beckons forward several players from the crowd._

_He fixes his eyes on me, leering sadistically. “I’ll let them have the honour of taking your final life, you son of a b. . .”_

_George._

_Sapnap._

_Bad._

_His voice fades into the background as I watch the three of them approach – taken aback by the loathing and hatred emanating from them. And I find myself pleading for mercy, like a coward. Smiling, they ignore my cries of pain._

_And it’s too late now._

_Their faces blur together into one as they set upon me, beating and thrashing me to within an inch of my life. Finally, one of them raises a axe, ready to strike the final blow. Kind of pointless – I am already dying._

_Dying with the dawn._

_Just as the tip of the blade touches my chest they turn away, and in the distance I see a cloaked silouhette rise against the sunrise, approaching over the crest of a hill. A tall warrior, with kingly bearing._

_I can’t see his face – it’s obscured by a hood. He carries a sword over his shoulder, but no shield._

_All the players bow to him in awe as I lie forgotten behind them, and as my vision starts to slip into the grey haze of death, the warrior strides over, towering above me._

_I can feel immense power radiating from this person, and just as the shadows begin to lift from his face, I awaken. . ._

I regain consciousness with a start, sobbing for breath and trembling all over. My whole body aches as if the wounds inflicted on me were real. I’m soaked in cold sweat and I feel dizzy as I scramble back against the obsidian wall, hugging my knees up to my chest, shaking and mumbling to myself over and over again.

_Nonono it w-wasn’t real – It wasn’t real. . .Stop. . .They won’t kill me – they haven’t killed me. . . no. . ._

The same nightmare that I had yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that. It goes on.

I rock myself backwards and forwards, hyperventilating, trying to calm down. My heart is racing so fast that I feel like I can’t breath. My ears are ringing so loudly it’s unbearable.

_Just a nightmare – d-don’t think about it. It’s safe here. . ._

I don’t know how long I sit there, traumatized and repeating those lines, smothering uncontrollable whimpers of pain, fear, and self-loathing in the sleeve of my hoodie. When I finally look up, my eyes feel swollen and my face is streaked with tears. My arms are bleeding where I dug my bitten nails down hard to distract myself from everything. They’re already covered in similar bruises from me doing it so often. The clock says it’s nearly breakfast time.

That means Sam will be here soon. After he treated my injuries the other day, he’s manually brought the food into my prison cell. I’m not sure why – I can’t make myself believe it is to see if I’m alright.

I stare down at myself. I’m so gaunt and thin – days of not eating have left their mark. I’m unbelievably weak, and I can barely eat anything now – if I have too much my stomach starts to hurt more than it did before and I feel sick. Not to mention the thought of only having raw potatoes day in day out now makes me gag.

I splash some water onto my face, rubbing it over and trying to clean myself up a bit before Sam arrives. It doesn’t help much, but I don’t want any more attention than is necessary. Then I sit down to wait.

Who is that person in my nightmare?

That’s what I wanted to be like.

A hero, a leader.

That’s what I know I never could be to them. It’s the same thought over and over again.

Nightmares. They are my dominion now, the subjects I command. Except for one small thing. They control me – as if paying me back for the way I controlled others. I’m their puppet, obeying their every cruel will. My mind – my sanity – is hanging by the thread they guide me with.

I should change my name to Marionette.

It would be better than Dream, a name cursed and hated above all else. My smiley mask, once a symbol of laughter and fun, now stands for sadism and suffering. I meant freedom and safety – now I’m tyranny and cruelty.

I wish I could forget everything that has happened – or that they would. But I know there is no going back now. Why would they ever forgive me? I can’t excuse anything I’ve done.

The same questions plague me repeatedly. What’s wrong with me? Why did I do it all? Why do I take such such pleasure in making others suffer? I hate what I do! But I can’t stop it! As if someone’s forcing me to do it all. Why else do I have conversations with myself – as if I were two separate beings? Half wants to get out of here, half reminds me why I’m staying. What I did was wrong – what I did was justified. They fight in my head, tearing me apart with every accusation. We disagree on everything – except one thing.

We both hate me.

With every day, one voice gets louder and louder. The one who is wants revenge. Power. Blood. It’s so violent and angry and loud I’m afraid what would happen if they let me out now. In my vain attempts to silence it, I go crazy – banging my head on the walls, burning in lava, crying out, until I curl up into a tight ball on the floor, burying my head in my arms and trying to block out everything. What it says hurts me so much – because I know it’s true.

I can’t ask anyone for help. They’d never understand.

When Sam comes in to give me food, he finds me sitting in the corner, staring blankly at the floor, tremors running through my body, as if I’m in a state of shock. The only other movement I’m making is obsessively stroking the back of my hands, deep inside yearning without hope for the friendly comfort of someone I trust. I feel like my heart is breaking, or broken – and I don’t even know why.

I didn’t hear Sam arrive. He stands there, studying me for a moment, before reaching out and tapping my shoulder. I shudder violently and flinch away from his touch.

“Dream?”

I hear his voice, which sounds distant and distorted after I’ve listened to the endless, merciless pounding of my own imagination for so long. I can’t respond – my mind feels totally numb.

“Dream, you okay?”

I barely register what he says.

_Did he just ask if you’re okay?_

I’ve hardly processed my own thoughts when the other voice pipes up.

_No, he wouldn’t have. He doesn’t care – nobody does._

I look up, blinking uncomprehendingly. My head is aching, I’m confused, yet I’m still fighting with myself.

_Is that concern on his face?_

_Of course not, idiot._

All I can do is nod in response to whatever he just said. And Sam, after giving me another apprehensive, unconvinced glance, turns and leaves.

_Why are you staring after him, coward? He’s not coming back – he’s going home._

A small, plaintive voice echoes through my mind.

_I want to go home, too. . ._

* * *

_I'll be semi-covering Tommy's visit in the next chapter, stick around to see my take on it!_

_Baiiiii!_

_:)_


	4. Mission Accomplished? (Part 4)

_Whoa thanks for over 1 thousand reads and all the kudos!_

_Thanks a million for leaving comments - it is so helpful to know what your opinions are! :)_

_Read on and enjoy **Part 4!**_

* * *

When I first saw the signs of an approaching visitor, I didn’t know what to do.

I had plenty of advance warning – any deviation in the lava flow I notice immediately. I should do – I’ve spent countless hours staring at it, mesmerized by the constant movement.

But who’s coming to visit me? Nobody would.

Unless. . .

Of course – I understand now.

Only one person would come here to see the most despised man on the server. The one who despised me the most.

TommyInnit.

After everything I did to him after he was exiled, it is only to be expected that he will come back to taunt me. I deserve it.

I slump down as this though crosses my mind, resting my head carefully in my hands. It takes forever for the wall to open, and I need to work out how I’ll act when he gets in here. It doesn’t take long to decide. There was no chance in hell I’d let him see how weak I’ve become, how my whole being aches with every movement.

I’m going to be acting like everything is fine, I am fine, I am doing okay in prison.

Only a few slight hitches in that plan, though.

I’m emaciated to the point of being skeletal, because I rarely keep down the small amount of food I force myself to eat. I’m pale and covered with scars, cuts, and bruises. There’s a bloody bandage around my head and I get dizzy and sick when I try to stand for long. Probably the result of self-inflicted concussion by slamming my head against the walls. My knuckles are split and bleeding from where I’ve punched the obsidian wildly, trying to use the pain to drown out the sounds of that voice in my mind that speaks so loudly – torturing me. My hoodie is ragged and dirty.

I pull on my mask, clumsily tying it over my face, wincing as my hands touch the unhealed wounds there. But I can bear it for now- one problem solved, as long as I don’t move around too much.

I look at my hands, feeling the blood drip through my clenched fist. I need to clean them off.

I plunge them into the water, biting back a cry of agony as the water seeps into the gashes, but I persevere, gritting my teeth and continuing with feverish determination. I won’t let Tommy see me in pain. I rinse some of the dirt out - the stagnant water will probably infect them later, but I’m only concerned about the present. Once the flow of blood has finally slowed, I dry them on my sleeves. As I move my hands under the dim light, I notice idly that several of the cuts reach the bone. Huh, interesting - I guess. . .

I would rip some cloth from my hoodie to wrap around them, but it hurts to much to when I try, so I give it up.

Glancing up, I see the lava has nearly all gone. Another minute, and I’ll be able to see whoever’s coming. And they’ll be able to see me.

I think I’m prepared now. All I can do is stand at the entrance, and wait – rehearsing my lines. I will play my role. The role of a sad, stir-crazy, broken youth who is sorry for his mistakes and wants nothing better than to go home. Admittedly, it won’t be hard to act innocent and subdued.

The lava drains, and I see him. The one who put me in here. Who led the others against me, turning me slowly from someone who cared to someone nobody cares about.

He rides the platform across, and the netherite-block barrier is lowered. I’m face to face with my worst enemy. The only person with time to spare to see me. We stare at each other for a minute – I can see he’s judging me, trying to gain as much knowledge about me before he speaks. I stand as straight and still as I can, trying desperately to hide the shaking my body can’t help

“Hello, Dream.” he says finally. Even the way he said my name sounded like an accusation.

“Hello?” I say, and I’m instantly aware how odd my voice sounds – worn out, childish, stuffy as if I’ve been crying, confused as if I can’t quite believe that someone’s actually here, talking to me. Me, a failure, someone no-one wants to talk to.

He keeps staring, taking in every detail about me. “You bastard, Dream.” he says, before unleashing a foul-mouthed torrent of abuse on me.

I keep my calm. I don’t care – he’s always like that. Even though this time I find myself believing everything he says. I keep my gaze downward, and don’t reply. I realize I’ll be unintentionally manipulating his feelings by this charade, but I don’t stop. Why would I? I’ve got nothing to lose

He’s obviously confused by my meekness, and he quietens down when I don’t respond with anger.

Oh, I am a good actor.

So I continue. I show him my clock. I tell him how much I like watching it. At least that is true. He picks it up and looks at it, flipping it over in his hands. I tense up, inwardly fuming. And realizing what a hypocrite I am – I’ve fallen into caring about something. I can’t help it.

“Hey Dream look – what if I dropped it in the lava?” He smirks, tossing it carelessly from hand to hand.

“My clock.” I say quietly, sounding bemused. It’s all I can do to keep from tackling him to the ground and wrestling it out of his fingers. I’d lose anyway given my current state, but I can’t afford to lose the clock. I don’t know why.

With effort, I pretend that I’m not that concerned, and Tommy, after gloating over his new-found power for a moment more, finally gets bored and decides to put it back on the wall. “I guess I’ll give it back – you’re gonna be in here for a hell of a long time, so . . .” he says.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “Yeah, I kinda need it.” I reply, feeling dizzy with relief.

_What the hell – it’s only a clock, idiot! Not a friend! Not even a live being!!!_

He spins the clock around in its frame, and I watch. “That can be new game!” I say, glancing fondly at the clock.

Tommy raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Huh, he doesn’t know just how much the thing means to me. I hate myself for falling into the very thing I was using to trap others.

He keeps staring at me – why won’t he stop? Is it because of the idea that his biggest threat and worst nightmare is caged, and unable to cause harm to anyone anymore? I can’t stand his eyes piercing through me with every passing minute.

“You look awful.” he says. My gaze flickers downwards. Yes, I do. I feel awful. I am awful. I’m not sure how to reply.

“This is really quite a sad sight, isn’t it?” He watches me for another moment, before turning away.

He goes through my chest, flicking through the many empty pages of the books it contained – asking me why I hadn’t written anything yet. I tell him I was still thinking what to say.

Still playing my role, I then show him everything that I could do.

I can swim in lava – it doesn’t take long to respawn after it kills me. Actually, it is the only way I can get in touch with the outside world, and I know my death messages continually filling chat annoys the other players no end. They’ve already shouted at me so many times, but I just smile humourlessly and keep on doing it until I start to get woozy and lightheaded from the constant cycle. Then I stop and try to rest, regretting the child-like foolishness of my actions but also glad that I provoked a reaction from them.

Tommy seems bewildered at how childishly simple I seem to have become. He’s let down his guard – he doesn’t view me as a threat anymore. So that’s when I strike.

“Tommy, I’m sorry.”

I hear my voice, so quiet, so vulnerable. It is hard to say, my chest feels tight and I hate the fact that I was apologizing to the person who’d caused nothing but destruction ever since he joined the server. My server. But deep down inside, I know I really do mean it.

Taken aback by my humble apology, Tommy stares at me, stunned. “What?!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry for everything I did to you.” I say honestly, although I have a feeling this apology is pointless - I know he doesn’t want to forgive me.

After he falters, unable to speak, trying to justify what I’ve just said, he grabs a handful of books and quills from the chest. I watch, frowning. “Please don’t take my books.” I ask.

He doesn’t reply, instead I hear the scratching of a quill across parchment as he writes something in the front of each book. Then he shoves them back into the chest. “Okay, Dream. I’ll be back in about four days from now. I want you to write me at least fifteen pages on each of the topics I put in those five books.” he says earnestly. “Then I’ll forgive you.”

I can’t believe this is what he wants. I pick up some of the books and flick to the front page, flinching in pain as I reopen some of the gashes on my knuckles.

“ _A Guide on How to Get Girls.”_

And that’s only the first one.

What? How would I know what to write? Is it really worth it? I don’t know if I will or not – the topics are so dumb and childish that I scorn the very idea.

But that’s what I am now, isn’t it? A child?

“Well, good luck!” he says gleefully. “You’ll need it, _Dream!”_

But I’m not paying any attention to him. I hate my name now – it seems like a word meaning everything that is evil. Meaning me. They should have destroyed me long ago. Did they really used to look up to me? Why? I thought it was so obvious I could never be what they needed. I’m a failure, a misfit, nothing but a villain. A boastful, prideful, tyrant. Look at me now.

I can’t keep my act going. I am dangerously close to snapping and I won’t be able to bear the humiliation if Tommy sees me break down. It is already hard to hold back my tears as he asks me a final question.

One of the cruelest things he can say – and I think he knows it.

“Dream, who do you miss most?”

I am silent, biting my lip behind my mask and ignoring the trickle of blood which drips from it.

_Don’t cry – coward. You have no friends and you don’t miss anyone. Nobody misses you._

“I think you should go, Tommy.”

“Well, Dream? Who?”

_It’s no good saying you care. It’s no good because you’re no good, Dream._

“Guard, Tommy’s ready to leave now.” I call out, wincing at the strangled tone in my voice. “He wants to leave!”

I want him to go, to get out of here, to stay away. To never come back. He only reminds me of everything I’ve lost.

Tommy tries to press me into replying, but then the wall of lava parts and I see Sam standing at the other end. “You ready to leave, Tommy?” he asks shortly. Tommy nods and all of a sudden he is gone, and I’m left standing here alone.

A wave of loneliness, sadness, and regret washes over me, making my head pound so much that I have to sit down. A sad, stir-crazy, broken youth who is sorry for his mistakes and wants nothing better than to go home.

Was that really an act? Or was it real?

I have to get out of here too. I can’t stand it anymore.

_You can’t leave, coward. This is what you deserve. You’re staying here. This is where criminals belong. Criminals have no friends, they have no home._

I hate myself for crying. Inaudible sobs rack my body as I thump my fists against the ground, trying to stop those voices with pain. The ones that have haunted me every waking moment, that have hunted me while I sleep.

The oppressive silence is more noticeable now that Tommy’s gone. It’s crushing me – I can’t breath. The voices have become so loud, that they’re deafening me. In desperation, I fling myself into the lava – dying, respawning again and again so I can’t listen.

_Leave me alone stop talking go away_

I’m getting extremely exhausted from the near constant death-loop I’m putting myself in, but I can’t stop or they’ll start talking again. I’m pushing myself harder than I’ve ever done before.

One more time.

And another.

Another. . .

_How many more times are you going to do this, fool?_

_PLEASE STOP! LEAVE ME BE!_

_You can’t do this forever. You’ll have stop eventually. You can’t block us out forever._

_I – have - to - keep - going. . ._

In a fleeting moment of sanity, an idea comes to me. I halt just outside the lava curtain, gasping for breath, my head spinning. I know Sam has a way of manually triggering a player’s respawn control, but he won’t notice someone’s gone until he comes to give them food - and that’s still hours away yet.

_What if -_

_You fool – it will never work – you don’t want to be stuck in the Void. . .I’ve been there. . ._

_When I next die -_

_You’ll regret it every moment of it, coward. . ._

_\- I don’t press the Respawn Button?_

**TBC. . .**

* * *

_**Chapter Trivia:** _

_This chapter was originally intended to be Part 2 when I first started this story, and so it went through a ton of re-writes to get it to what it is now LOL :P_

_Anyways, Bad's visit is coming up very soon, only a chapter or two away!_

_Bye!_


	5. Mission Accomplished? (Part 5)

_This was a bad idea. . ._

The Void.

It’s a cold, dark, silent dimension, like the vacuum of space. Where no light reaches, and no player dares venture. Once you’ve drifted too far out and the Respawn Button fades from sight, there is no going back.

Unless someone realizes you’re gone.

And only then if they care enough to bring you back.

I’m falling - watching the bedrock of the Overworld slowly disappear from view. The horizonless edges of the void were faintly light when I was closer, but now they are quickly dimming. I blink, trying to free my fuzzy vision of the icy fog which is blurring the Respawn button.

_Do you want us to die permanently, idiot? Press the button – before it’s too late._

It’s unbelievably cold. I can’t move, my limbs feel like they’re frozen. I force myself to reply, to fight back, to not give in.

_I’m g-going to destroy y-you once and f-for all . . ._

_We’ll both die, stupid! Nobody cares about you enough to revive you!_

I’ m semiconscious from the cold now, numb, barely able to form the words.

_Then at least I’ll t-take you with m-me. . ._

The voice is silent. And I’m completely alone. Finally, as the last flickers of light vanish, I’m plunged into total darkness.

All of a sudden, I feel as if frozen ice-shards are piercing through my body all over and I give an involuntary cry of pain as it continues, sending freezing lances of agony shooting through my head. It doesn’t stop, each repeated stabbing pain more fierce than the last.

I curl up as I continue to fall, clutching my head tightly, gasping, crying, pleading for the pain to go away as the blood pulsing through my veins seems turn to ice.

_I – I’ll p-press the b-button! Please m-make it s-stop? I’ll d-do want you w-want. . ._

With difficulty I stretch out my hands, wanting to be free and not caring about anything anymore. But as I struggle to open my eyes, I realize something.

The Void is pitch-black.

And I’ve fallen past the Respawn Button.

_It’s too late, fool._

The voice is back to make one last statement – one last attempt to torture me.

_I warned you. There is no escape now. This is the end._

_Goodbye._

I feel him leave – and I have never been so afraid in all my life.

“N-no – come b-back. . .” I murmur, as I feel the icy darkness begin shatter about me, crushing me, breaking my will. I am unable to resist anymore. It’s too much. I’m scared, I’m alone. And about to die.

The air is thinning fast. My lungs seem to fill with ice as I inhale rapidly – desperate to stay alive. But I know soon there will be no air left to breath.

I feel lightheaded from lack of oxygen. I’m falling faster, slower, unable to stop myself. I’m shivering, my head is pounding. There is no way out now - I’ve accepted my doom.

And for the first time in so so long – a grey shroud of peace settles itself over my face – over my mask.

_I killed him. . . the voice is g-gone. . .m-my server is happy. M-my server is safe. . ._

_It’s s-so cold. . ._

_I w-wish I could have t-told th-them that I d-did c-care. . .I loved them all. . ._

_I’m so c-cold. . ._

_I only wanted what w-was b-best for them. . ._

_I’m sorry. . ._

The last thing I see is a beam of light rip through the sky, tearing it in half as more light poured in, flooding the Void’s abyss with white. It draws me upwards.

Then I feel my heart stop.

xxxDSMPxxx

“. . .ake up, Dream! Dream, that’s an order! Don’t you dare die on me!”

Someone is tapping my face, but I can barely feel it. I’m so numb with cold. I moan and the person shakes me by the shoulders roughly. “Come on, you’re okay. Wake up!”

It takes so much effort – I’m exhausted, but I manage to open my eyes. Sam’s face is out of focus, but I can see him. I blink dazedly, noticing where I am. I’m lying back in my cell and Sam stands over me with a fierce scowl, but despite that I’ve never been so grateful to see another player in my life.

He sighs loudly. “You idiot, Dream! What the hell did you do that for?”

I can’t speak. My throat is hurting badly every time I swallow. I give a weak shrug. _I got rid of the voice. . ._

“You could have lost your last life!” Sam shouts. “I would have gotten into trouble. Never do that again!”

A small smile plays on my face. “Why?” I ask in a rough whisper.

Sam is silent for a moment. “You will regret it.” he says eventually, before leaving.

I sit quietly with my eyes shut, shivering uncontrollably and listening to my breathing. There is an odd, wheezing sound every time I inhale and exhale. I’m chilled to the bone, my whole body feels bruised, and when I gain the energy to check myself over, I find that most of my wounds have been replaced by jagged purple-ish scars, which are spread all over me like creeping vines. I glance at my reflection in the water. I’m extremely pale, but my face has a faint blueish shade. Patches of mauve are patterned on my skin.

 _Probably from being half-frozen to death,_ I think, pulling my hood on in an attempt to warm myself a little more and gingerly flexing my fingers, wincing at the angrily swollen gashes on my knuckles. I can hardly bend them at all.

Over the next few days, the symptoms of Void exposure begin to show. I’m unable to sleep because my head is so stuffed up, and I can’t stop coughing which sends stabbing pains through my chest. I spend my time sitting miserably in the corner, staring up at my clock, ignoring my constant headache and the dizziness that results from sneezing. No matter what I do, I can’t get warm enough.

I’m alone, just like I was before. But there is something different this time.

I’ve changed.

Perhaps my mind’s snapped – blocking out the trauma of the past weeks and making me go crazy. I find more small ways to amuse myself. I feel abnormally happy when my clock reaches mid-day – the line is perfectly straight and in the middle. I can move it from wall to wall, put I where I want, it plays with me. It counts how long I can burn in lava without dying, which I do to annoy Sam. I love to spin it around and around, back and forth, quickly and slowly.

_I’m a monster. . ._

Once, when moving my clock, I dropped it in the lava. I was distraught. When Sam came to give me the potatoes, I begged him to get me a new one - I pleaded until he agreed. He had to – there was supposed to be one in the prison cell. Then I realized that every time I burnt it, he had to come back to replace it. I began to do all sorts of careless, stupid, childish things, just to get him to come back. I like seeing him. I crave attention and I despise myself for it.

_I’m hopeless. . ._

Right now, I’m playing with the sharp glass shards I got from smashing my clock. I drag them lightly along my arms, smiling as I feel the pain and watching my purple-tainted blood spring up, trailing behind each blade-like piece. If I pull down my sleeves, you can’t tell the difference – as they’re already stained so much that the fresh blood just blends in. The pain serves me right – I like it – I can’t stop. . .

_I’m so lonely. . ._

I need human interaction. I want to see anyone. I’m so bored. I burnt the books Tommy wrote in when he visited. When he had failed to come back within the four days he promised I was glad I that had. I watched the pages disintegrate in the lava and disappear, wishing I could have thrown Tommy in with them.

_You’ve got nobody to blame except yourself. . ._

I can’t sleep without nightmares waking me up – I wind up time and time again in the corner of my prison, panicking, shaking, crying softly to myself until it’s nearly morning. Then I put on my mask again and wait for the day to end and the cycle to repeat itself. I’m ashamed of myself for being such a coward, but the nightmares are so vivid and lifelike that I keep thinking they’re real.

_I’m fine – I’m fine – it’s okay. . ._

Misbehaving distracts me from how I really feel. I’m on thin ice with Sam because I keep finding new ways to tease him. He threatens to give me less food, but I don’t care – I can’t even bring myself to eat. Now he’s forbidden anyone from coming to see me for the next few days.

To tell you the truth I’m kind of glad, because I’m afraid.

Afraid of who might come – what they’ll do to me – what they’ll see.

But when I’m not looking at the clock, I find myself staring wistfully, hopefully, at the entrance.

Nobody else has wanted to visit. I miss them all so so much. But after everything I did to them – I can hardly expect that they might think the same about me.

George, Sapnap, Bad. My three best friends - most trusted allies – loyal companions.

I know that they were the best friends I could ever have had. But deep inside I knew that I could never dare to hope that I was their best friend too. I’m not anywhere good enough for that.

All I can hope for is that they’ve forgotten about me, or still hate me. Then at least I’m not causing them any more pain than I have done before.

_It’s not easy, being what everyone wants you to be._

They used to call me the leader – they put me in charge – they looked up to me, forgetting that every man has his own faults.

Me more than most.

I thought I could do good. I only wanted to help. I picked the players whom I thought had potential and I gave them power. I chose people, not sides. I fought for myself and my land, this land I saw generated at the beginning of time. I had high hopes as I created it, typing in each line of code with loving hands, carefully checking it over for glitches and faults, pouring so much time and effort into it that I forgot one thing as I finally ran the code.

There’s always a flaw in the system.

And when I stood for the first time on the newly-born world, I remembered that. But no matter how hard I tried, I could not find it.

Like a concerned father, I searched and searched. I travelled for days and weeks at a time unsure of what I was seeking because I had no way of knowing what form the flaw would take. All I knew was that some day, it would be what destroys the server. I’ve seen it before in under many disguises. And it always brings the server to a violent, final ruin. I vowed to myself I wouldn’t let my own nation be brought down by it. I vowed to protect it with my life – or death. Whatever it took.

But as I lie here, isolated and alone, with plenty of time to think, I suddenly see the answer. It’s so obvious that I feel my head start throbbing as I try to take it all in.

Choking back a sob of horror and heartbreak, I realize just what I am.

_The f_ _law in the system?_

_I_ _t’s_ _Me_ _._

**TBC. . .**

* * *

_Hmmm . . . is that Ranboo connections I see hinted?_

_I wonder. . . :)_

_Quick Author's Note - I have decided to make this its own separate story, so I'm gonna make a new book for one-shots in the future._

_Be sure to check out my other story,[Danger on the Horizon - a MCYT Fanfiction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28932597/chapters/70988748)!_


	6. Mission Accomplished? (Part 6)

_Heya fellas what's up!?_

_Sorry this took two weeks to update, but Real Life invited itself over and I had play hostess :)_

_Anyway, just thought I'd say here Trigger Warnings for blood and self/harm in this 'un but chances are if you're reading this story by this point it won't make much difference because you've read the previous chapters :)_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Quill pens are sharp.

The ink droplets are like blood. They look interesting when they drip down the page and make patterns.

But it’s all one colour. It’s all black. Like the obsidian surrounding me. I want something new. Something different.

I write in my books with the quills. I started some sort of diary that I sketch in on the opposite page.

_**Day One:** it’s not really day one but it’s my first entry so yeah. i’ve been here for so long. . . i’m okay_

_**Day Two:** i thought of a cool word earlier. kakorrphiaphobia. i dont know why but i like it. looks nice on the paper. dunno where i heard it._

I draw as well. But I’ve only just had an idea as to how I can make better drawings.

I can colour them!

I stab the quill pen without hesitation down into my arm, flinching with pain at first and then watching the black ink seep into my veins with deep satisfaction. It enters my bloodstream and spreads dark tendrils over my arms, making a spider-like pattern.

It looks pretty.

I take a curved piece of glass from yet another clock I’ve smashed and I let the blood run down from the newly-opened gash on my arm and pool in the bottom of the ‘dish’. Then I grab another quill and squeeze it until all the ink has mingled with the blood.

Carefully, I wrap my hoodie over my finger and dip it into my new ‘paints’. As I start to fill in an outline of a drawing I’d started days ago, a stupid smile spreads over my face. I don’t care about pain – it reminds me I’m still alive.

I guess everything they say about me is right – all I like doing is causing pain and grief.

_We’ve found a new game!_

_**Day Three:** my game is fun. i wish i could show everyone my paintings, but nobody cares about me anymore. they will come soon though, wont they?_

At first, I can’t tell the difference in colour from where I get the blood. But after a few days, I begin to notice. Blood from my forehead is lighter red and comes in copious amounts if I cut myself there. My arms yield a bright but slightly deeper red, and my ankles and feet give me a dark burgundy. I add ink to change the shades if necessary.

The best part is that the mauve scars criss-crossing over my body give me a purple-hued colour.

For a brush, I used a glass shard to cut off a chunk of my hair, tying it into a bundle with a string I pulled from my hoodie.

I paint sunsets, trees, hills, mountains. Maps, rivers, oceans, birds in flight. I’ve dedicated one book to finger painting, one to coloured sketches.

They’re beautiful.

It’s the nearest I’ll get to ever seeing them again. I don’t want to forget.

_**Day Four:** i miss the feel of the breeze blowing on my face. i like painting words in my book – I talk with it. _

_Lonely insane broken_

_**Day Five:** _ _bored lost dark dreams_ _it’s so dark_

_**Day Six:** nightmares marionettes sky - i cant sleep._

I’ve come up with another game. How many times can I hit my head against the walls before blacking out?

_**Day Seven:** it takes 7 times. i’m trying to get a lower score but i’m still a coward :)_

Why is it so quiet in here?

_Clouds wind free breeze. . ._

There’s a drawback to stabbing myself with the quill. Twinges of pain shoot through my arm at regular intervals. The jolts of pain seem to spread further through my body each day.

_**Day Eight:** only 5 times today before i passed out. yes!_

I can stick my head under the water in the cauldron to see how long before I drown, too. It confuses everyone outside reading chat.

I love my clock. I love burning it – I love breaking it. I love looking at it.

_**Day Nine:** i’m okay _

_i’m okay_

_i’m fine_

_i’m fine._

_**Day Ten:** i think it’s day 10. i don’t really know. things are getting weird. _

My nightmares still torment me every time I sleep, but they’ve changed slightly. I think I wake up because I have a visitor coming but it’s always the same person.

Ranboo.

He comes in and talks to me. He stays with me and I show him how to paint pictures of explosions, destruction, death. I don’t want to draw those things but no matter what I do, I can’t control my own hands. Then it always ends the same way. He’s about to leave when everything starts spinning before my eyes and I black out – only to awaken and wonder if he was ever really here in the first place or whether it was a hallucination.

~~_I miss my friends._ ~~

_I have no friends._

~~_I want to go home._ ~~

_I have no home_

xxxDSMPxxx

_**Day Thirteen:** if reputation was the only thing protecting me from a knife in the back – reputation is nothing, right? . . . everything is going okay. . . _

I’ve just reopened a stab-wound with a fresh quill and I’m painting a picture of a sunrise when all of a sudden a blinding pain lances through my whole body. I don’t know what has hit me.

I double up, whimpering as overwhelming nausea spreads like lightning from my head downwards. Black spots are eating away at my vision and my arm throbs with red-hot agony.

My legs give way and I find myself on the floor, breath coming in ragged gasps.

_What happened - what’s wrong with me?_

I stare dizzily as the bloody ink from the quill oozes out and crawls slowly down the piece of parchment I was drawing on. My mind seems to be moving just as slowly as I try to figure out what the hell is going on.

Finally I think I know.

_I’m an idiot._

_I’ve poisoned myself with the ink. . ._

The next few days blur into undiscernability and are the most awful I’ve ever had. I can’t even move because the pain is so bad and I feel so sick. I lie in the corner shivering and drifting in and out of a feverish sleep. I don’t recall seeing Sam come in once. He must have at some point though – because when I am briefly able to open my eyes there is a small blanket crumpled on the floor beside me. It takes so much effort just to reach out and clumsily pull it over me that I’m totally drained by the time I’ve got it half-spread across my body and I fall asleep again immediately.

After what seemed to be an age, the poison seems to have run its course. I am able to sit up, and look around. I’ve not felt so weak in a long time. My face falls as I realize Sam must have confiscated all my glass pieces – they’re nowhere in sight. But at least he’s replaced my clock, so I can get more eventually.

I manage to pick up my diary, which is still leaning against the chest where I let it fall. Writing is hard, my whole arm aches and the area where I stabbed the quill several days ago is a huge swollen blue-black bruise.

_**Day . . .Twenty?:** i’m so dumb. i poisoned myself with ink but i dont care now. i’m going to be okay now i think. is it day 20? i dont know._

_**Day Twenty-Two:** i wish someone would come see me._

The lingering wooziness finally lessens over the long hours.

_**Day Twenty-Five:** it’s so lonely please someone anyone i will be good i promise._

I sigh in annoyance as I feel yet another tear trickle down my cheek. I can’t help crying. It’s hard to keep reminding myself why I’m here and what I’ve done to deserve staying here permanently. It’s so hard knowing nobody wants to see me.

But I’m wrong. As I let the quill slip from my grip and shut the book, I see something that I should have noticed a while ago.

The lava is draining for the first time that I can remember in days. I shove all my books into the chest, pull down my sleeves to cover as many wounds as I can, and scramble to stand up – nervously hoping I’ll be able to remain this way until they’ve left.

My mask is on, but no matter how long I’d scrubbed at it with water I couldn’t remove the purple-ish bloodstains I’ve put on in.

At last I can see the person who has come to visit – and it makes me feel a tangle of emotions. Scared, relieved, overjoyed, terrified, ashamed.

It’s someone who I once called a ‘friend’ ~~-~~

BadBoyHalo.

**TBC . . .**

* * *

_According to AO3 Statistics, only a small percentage of you amazing people reading this story leave kudos, so I'd really appreciate it if you did! :)_

_Also be sure to bookmark this for free cookies!_

_(Yes, I just stole Dream and MrBeast's lines, no I don't care lol ;)_


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